The Ripple Effect

The Ripple Effect The Ripple Effect is a space for honest reflections on grief, loss, healing, and life after loss. To encourage kindness in every way

My hope is that sharing my journey helps others find a little breathing space, feel understood, and know they are not alone.

Grief Keeps me AwakeMy brain does funny things grieving.At 3am it seems to think it's the perfect time to replay memorie...
17/06/2026

Grief Keeps me Awake

My brain does funny things grieving.

At 3am it seems to think it's the perfect time to replay memories, worry about the future, and try to solve problems that don't have answers.

I've spent many nights lying awake thinking about everything ,wondering what my life is supposed to look like now.

One thing that has helpes is something very simple.

Before I go to bed, I take a few minutes and write everything down. The worries. The sadness. The things I need to do. The things I wish I could change.

Just getting them out of my head and onto paper.

I recently read that writing down worries before bed can help calm the mind and improve sleep. Whether it's the science or simply giving my thoughts somewhere else to be for the night, I don't know.

What I do, is that it helps.

The thoughts are still there in the morning, but for a few hours I don't have to carry them all.

Sometimes a few hours of rest is a victory.

What I'm MissingThe little things that catch me off guard.Making pancakes and setting off the smoke alarm because we wer...
16/06/2026

What I'm Missing

The little things that catch me off guard.

Making pancakes and setting off the smoke alarm because we were too busy laughing.

The cheeky kisses in a doorway.

The little looks that said, I love you, without either of us saying a word.

The bus rides when we didn't have a car and the walks home holding hands. Nothing special, just us having the best times.

I miss seeing younger people looking at us as if to say, "Do they know they're not teenagers anymore?" We didn't care.

And then there are the memories from the end.

Holding his hand while he slept.

Kissing his forehead.

Whispering "I love you" because I needed him to know, even if I wasn't sure he could hear me.

And the last "I love you" before he died.

Sometimes people think grief is missing someone when they're gone. But for me, it's also missing all those little moments that made up our life.

The ordinary things.

The things you never think you'll lose.

The things that looked so small at the time but now mean absolutely everything.

Strength and the Invisible TruthPeople often tell me, "You're so strong."And maybe if you've been through grief, you've ...
15/06/2026

Strength and the Invisible Truth

People often tell me, "You're so strong."

And maybe if you've been through grief, you've heard that too.

From the outside, it probably looks that way.

But the truth is, I don't always feel strong. I just keep going because there isn't another option.

It's me and me. There isn't someone beside me helping me make decisions or telling me everything will work out.

And believe me, there are nights when I fall asleep crying, missing him, and wondering what my future will look like.

Sometimes I look at other people and wonder if they're doing the same. Going to work, having coffee with friends, smiling and getting on with life while carrying a sadness that nobody else can see.

Living alone is hard. Some days it feels heavy. Other days it feels surprisingly freeing. A little scary, but also an opportunity to discover who I am now.

Grief took away much of the certainty I used to have. But it has also shown me kindness in unexpected places. Friends who listen. Conversations that help. Small moments that remind me I'm still here, still growing, still living.

So I keep going.

Not because I know exactly where I'm heading, but because I trust that each step matters.

Maybe one day I'll clearly see my path.

And if I don't, I'll keep knocking on doors until one opens.

For now, that's enough.

And today, that's hope.

14/06/2026

Friendship

Grief has taught me how important friends really are.

Not the big gestures. Not people trying to fix things. Just people being there.

A coffee. A chat. A phone call.

Friends who listen to me talking about the same things over and over again. Friends who hear about all the confusion, the sadness, the loss of confidence, and the endless questions about what comes next.

Since Jonny died, there have been times when I have felt completely lost. Times when I didn't recognise myself anymore.

And yet, there have always been people who sat beside me and let me be exactly where I was.

No advice. No judgement. Just kindness.

My friends are here, there, and everywhere. Some I see regularly, some I speak only on the phone, some send a message just at the right time.

They probably don't realise how much they have helped me heal.

Grief can feel incredibly lonely, but friendship reminds me that I am not doing this on my own.

Love doesn't only come from a partner. Sometimes it comes from a friend who turns up for a coffee, listens to the same story again, and stays anyway.

And honestly, that kind of love has carried me more than they will ever know.

Thank you ❤️❤️❤️

Vulnerability People talk a lot about being brave. But for me, it isn't putting on a brave face or pretending everythin...
13/06/2026

Vulnerability

People talk a lot about being brave. But for me, it isn't putting on a brave face or pretending everything is okay.

It's being honest.

"Actually, I'm sad. I'm exhausted. I miss him. I don't know what's next."

Believe me, I am tired of feeling this way. But grief is exactly this. It's messy, uncomfortable, and often feels like walking through fog.

I was offered antidepressants and sleeping tablets. I chose not to take them. That was my choice, based on what I know about myself. I have absolutely no judgement towards anyone who makes a different choice.

I know some people look at me and think, "Why don't you just take them?"

But for me, I feel this sadness. I sit with it, however uncomfortable it is. Because I know from life experience that the things I try hardest to avoid are often the things that have the most to teach me.

My vulnerability has never been my weakness.

Looking for SignsI've realised how much of my day I spent looking for signs.A song that comes on at the right moment. A ...
12/06/2026

Looking for Signs

I've realised how much of my day I spent looking for signs.

A song that comes on at the right moment. A feather on the path. A number I keep seeing. I catch myself thinking, Is this a sign.

I don't move through life the same way.

Before, I felt safer , I trusted that tomorrow would look a bit like today.

Now I know how quickly everything can change.

And that knowledge follows me .

Maybe what I'm really looking for is certainty.

But grief has shown me that certainty doesn't really exist.

What I am starting to see, is that I keep finding my way through things anyway.

The conversation I was worrying about happens. The difficult day passes. The thing I thought I couldn't cope with somehow gets done.

Not perfectly. Not gracefully.

Some days I still look for signs.

But maybe the sign isn't out there somewhere waiting to be found.

Maybe it's the fact that despite everything, I keep trying. I keep hoping. I keep one foot in front of the other, even when I'm scared.

And perhaps that's enough.

Maybe the sign is not that everything will be okay.

Maybe the sign is that whatever comes next, I'll find a way through it.

Hope Not loud, more like a fragile flower finding its way through the cracks.I'm still finding my way in life . Some day...
11/06/2026

Hope

Not loud, more like a fragile flower finding its way through the cracks.

I'm still finding my way in life . Some days I feel strong, other days uncertain. But little by little, I'm learning to open my heart and eyes to what is ahead.

To trust myself. To have confidence in the path, even when I can't see where it leads.

Hope doesn't need to be big, it is simply choosing to keep moving forward.

From the outside, I look okay.I go to work. I smile. I make plans. Life keeps moving.But I've realised that looking oka...
10/06/2026

From the outside, I look okay.

I go to work. I smile. I make plans. Life keeps moving.

But I've realised that looking okay and being okay are not the same thing.

After months of poor sleep, stress, and a nervous system that seems to be permanently waiting for the next disaster, my body finally put a stop to it.

About six weeks ago, I was hit with a chest infection and chickenpox at the same time. My immune system had clearly been running on empty.

It was a wake-up call.

My body was saying, "No. You can't keep doing this."

Grief asks so much of us. We often focus on the emotional pain and forget that our bodies are carrying it too.

Since then, I've been trying to listen a little more closely. Better food. More rest. More time with people who leave me feeling lighter. More time for myself without guilt.

I'm still learning that healing isn't just about surviving emotionally. It's also looking after the body that has been carrying me through it all.

That's a part of grief too—realising that eventually the body asks for its turn to be looked after.

Home?I keep going back and forth on this.Scotland or Switzerland?Honestly, people probably know this by heart by now.I s...
09/06/2026

Home?

I keep going back and forth on this.

Scotland or Switzerland?

Honestly, people probably know this by heart by now.

I spend a lot of time looking for signs. Something that will tell me what to do.

But if I'm being honest, I think I'm really looking for certainty .

Scotland is where Jonny and I built our life together. It's where I was happy. It's where everything fell apart.

It's also where I found friends who held me up when I could not hold myself together.

The idea of leaving that behind hurts.

Not because the memories are tied to a flat or a place. I know they come with me wherever I go.

But sometimes it feels like moving would mean letting go of the last tangible pieces of the life Jonny and I shared.

And I'm not ready for that yet.

Switzerland is where my roots are. My family. The place I came from.

But grief has changed me so much that sometimes I wonder if I'd still fit there.

The person who'd be going back isn't the same person who left.

There's the fear of starting over.

The fear of feeling lonely.

The fear of feeling like I don't fit in either place.

Maybe that's why this decision feels so big.

Because it isn't really about where I live.

It's about where this version of me belongs.

I don't have an answer.

I'm trying to trust that I don't need one today.

Just the next step.

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Inverclyde

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